#dividers via @cafekitsune !!

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window. 

With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.

There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.

That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.

Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—

Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.

You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.

The world freezes entirely.

It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.

You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.

Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.

Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.

If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.

You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.

Nope. This was very much reality.

You sigh.

It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.

In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.

It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.

There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.

An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—

The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”

You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”

Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.

The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.

“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.

“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.

The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.

Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.

You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.

It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.

“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”

Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”

He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.

Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.

The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.

If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.

You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.

“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.

You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.

“It’s so what?” He squints.

“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.

You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.

The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”

You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”

He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.

He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.

Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”

Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.

You look up at him and tilt your head.

“You going to let me go now, or..?”

Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”

He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.

There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.

“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.

You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.

He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.

“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.

He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.

“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.

“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”

Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.

God. He’s criminally good at this.

“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.

“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.

You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.

“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…

He stops.

You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.

“Hey—!”

“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…

“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.

You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.

His grin widens.

“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.

Bait.

And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.

“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”

“Need me to what, baby?”

His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.

That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”

His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.

“Whatever my girl wants—”

He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.

You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.

“—my girl gets, yeah?”

You find yourself in the bathroom again.

This time, you are in your own home.

The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.

You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.

You can’t have him. It would never work out.

Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.

And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.

You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.

You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.

Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.

And the easiest way to get over things?

You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.

The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.

You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.

A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.

(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)

You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:

You need to get over Sampo Koski.

And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.

You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.

You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.

The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.

Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.

You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.

“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:

Sampo. Fucking. Koski.

“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”

His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.

So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.

(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)

“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”

Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.

That he caused.

Indirectly.

“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”

(You want to call him a liar.

You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)

You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.

All you know is that it does not feel good.

“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”

Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”

He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.

You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—

You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”

You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.

Your face blanches.

The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.

How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.

“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”

He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.

You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.

You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.

And he looks none too happy.

“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”

This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.

“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.

“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”

You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.

Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.

“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”

You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.

You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.

What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.

The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.

“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.

“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:

Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.

“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”

You’re my friend.

Friend.

Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.

No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.

To touch him, to hold him.

You can’t.

“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t seem okay—”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.

Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:

“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”

It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.

The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.

But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.

“Oh,” is all he says.

You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.

“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”

He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.

“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.

The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.

“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”

He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.

This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #sampo smut #sampo koski smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #sampo x you #sampo koski x you #☆ oakie writes #☆ series: don't you trust me? #dividers via cafekitsune :p #nereids' realm

[bleach-your-panties]

⇰INTRODUCING, AN OFFICIAL BYP🌹🌸 COLLABORATION EVENT...

...."BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN!"❀

⋱♡full collab info post ⇰here!

Deadline: MAY 31, 2024 (not a hard deadline!)

🎀Posts🎀:

♥︎Tokyo Revengers:

Chifuyu Matsuno @bleach-your-panties

Ken Ryuguji "Draken" @sin-and-punishment

🎀nsfw, smut |🎀fem reader

Shion Madarame @sin-and-punishment

🎀nsfw, smut | 🎀fem reader

Jeez Louise - Ken Ryuguji "Draken" x Emma Sano, Manjiro Sano "Mikey" x Reader (group sex) @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw, smut |🎀fem reader |🎀foursome |🎀fxf action

Takuya Yamamoto @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Tetta Kisaki @bleach-your-panties

Rindou Haitani @prncessrindou

✿Bleach:

Ran Haitani @ksakiswh0re-xo

Wakasa Imaushi @ranspuppy

🎀rating tbd

Izuru Kira @bleach-your-panties

🎀nsfw, smut | 🎀fem reader

Rose Otoribashi @semisgroupie

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd

Shinji Hirako @seireiteihellbutterfly

🎀nsfw | 🎀thick, fem reader

♥︎Hunter x Hunter:

Kurapika Kurta @bleach-your-panties

Shalnark @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Phinks @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Pakunoda @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

✿Jujutsu Kaisen:

Kento Nanami x2 @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

Kento Nanami @seireiteihellbutterfly

🎀nsfw | 🎀thick fem reader

Rosé and Bubble Gum - Yuuji Itadori @bleach-your-panties

🎀suggestive | 🎀fem reader | 🎀black-coded

Yuuji Itadori - @bleach-your-panties

♥︎Genshin Impact:

Thoma @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

Albedo @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

✿Attack on Titan:

Armin Arlert @stopisa

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd

Friends with Benefits - Reiner Braun @/shujistars-archived

🎀nsfw, smut | fem reader

Armin Arlert @sunarc

🎀nsfw | 🎀 more tbd

♥︎My Hero Academia:

Katsuki Bakugo @bakugosbratx

🎀nsfw| 🎀dark content

Mirio Togata @bleach-your-panties

✿Blue Lock:

Ryosuke Kira @bleach-your-panties

Ryusei Shidou @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd |🎀fem reader

♥︎Haikyuu!!:

Kei Tsukishima @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd | 🎀fem reader

Kenma Kozume @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd | 🎀fem reader

Kentarou Kyoutani @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw |🎀fem reader

✿Fairy Tail:

Laxus Dreyar @bleachbrainrotbro

🎀sfw |🎀male reader

♥︎One Piece:

Sanji Vinsmoke @chrollohearttags

✿Death Note:

Mihael Keehl "Mello" @bleach-your-panties

#🎀bhmf.collab xo🎀 #anime collab #writing collab #since y'all wanted the deets! #tokyo revengers x reader #bleach x reader #tokyo revengers x black reader #aot x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #genshin impact x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #any fandom #please share!! #bow divider via glitter-graphics #dividers by cafekitsune #byp🌹

[babacontainsmultitudes]

🦑 AAARRRRR HOIST THE SAILS! AT LONG LAST, CHAPTER 3 OF MISTY STEPPERS IS FINALLY HERE!!! 🏴‍☠️🦜

:3 And for those of you who don't know what the heck I'm talking about, "Misty Steppers" is my goofy silly glennry pirate AU fic that I haven't updated since July which you should maybe go check out!

#(banner/divider is via @cafekitsune) #dndads #dungeons and daddies #glenn close #glenn close dndads #henry oak #henry oak garcia #glennry #dndads fanfic #misty steppers

[express-archives]

Hestia's Introduction —✧

"Ah, that one... I never got along with her or her master, but as long as she doesn't get in my way, I don't intend on getting in hers. I can respect her loyalty and strength of body and mind, at the very least. Other than that, why should it matter to me what she does? It might matter to the other Harbingers, but it doesn't to me." —Childe

◆ Name: Hestia ◆ Gender & Pronouns: Female, she/her ◆ Age: 22 ◆ Affiliations: Fatui (formerly), none (currently) ◆ Nation: Variable ◆ Heritage: Snezhnayan ◆ Vision: Pyro ◆ Weapon: Catalyst ◆ Constellation: Phoenix Ignis ('Phoenix Fire')

Hestia was a mere child when the one known as the Fair Lady discovered her and her sick father, huddling together for warmth in a worn-down home in—what seemed to be and felt like—the middle of nowhere. With the promise of a more secure life for him and his child, the ill man agreed to allow his child to join the Fatui.

What had been a simple recruitment, nothing more and nothing less, spiralled into far more.

Across the years, La Signora observed the growth of the child she saved from a safe distance, quietly stepping in every now and then to guide their training, as she often did with other young recruits. She pretended to never notice their wide and awe-filled eyes when they gazed upwards at her. ...But she was not made of stone, no matter how strongly she insisted that she was, and she unwittingly opened her impenetrable heart to the little girl she recruited off of the streets.

(She swore up and down that her perceived closeness to Hestia was a mere consequence of how efficient a soldier she was; Hestia rarely made errors and completed her objectives with swiftness and accuracy, therefore the Fair Lady quite liked her. That was all, she insisted.

...Though, virtually anyone could see the truth.)

It was when Hestia's father succumbed to his ever-worsening illness that she was reborn at the hands of her lady. At the tender age of sixteen, she began her life anew.

"You will leave your past life behind," La Signora had said, gripping their chin with the gentleness of a mother and tilting it up so that Hestia might be able to meet her eyes. "From this day forth, you will be known as Hestia, child. Cry no more. This pain will follow you forever, but you must go on in spite of it. Am I understood?"

Despite the harshness of her words, her tone was gentle, and La Signora kindly patted Hestia's face dry with her other hand.

A part of Hestia died with her father, but from the ashes of her death, she would rise again.

"...Yes, my lady."

"Very good."

Hestia could only wonder when La Signora had been cruelly subjected to a pain such as this. She held far too deep a familiar understanding with grief...

...But these were not questions for her to ask. Instead, Hestia's eyes fluttered shut, and she basked in the warmth of the icy Harbinger who had saved her life and provided her with the resources to extend her father's.

La Signora's life, however, was not to last, and nor was Hestia's joy.

Hestia recalls the day the ship carrying her Harbinger's ashes docked. She recalls the grief, the anger, and the overwhelming sadness that engulfed her entire existence like a towering wave crashing down upon the beach. A part of herself died with the Eighth.

But, it was as the Fair Lady had said all those years ago:

'This pain will follow you forever, but you must go in in spite of it.'

And that day, Hestia knew she could no longer remain a part of the organization that neglected to protect its own. The Fatui now meant nothing to her. She did not need them anymore. From the ashes of her death, Hestia rose once again, and she would continue to do so as many times as needed.

That day, she resolved to burn away the world's ugliness herself. She would finish what her master had started.

The Fatui was taking far too long to do so for her liking.

PERSONALITY

◆ Hestia is a quiet and withdrawn soul, preferring to keep to herself and her work. She hesitates to allow people too close, as she does not wish to risk losing another loved one—first her father and then her mother figure... it is hard to blame her for behaving so distantly, knowing this. Hestia, however, is not rude or unnecessarily mean; contrary to popular belief, she is quite kindly and compassionate. It is hard to know what she's thinking, really. One moment, her warmth shines through like a that of a savior's, but she will return to her distant self the next. Perhaps this is an act of self-preservation; the world cannot hurt her again if she does not give it the opportunity to. In a way, she has grown to be very much like the woman who raised and taught her.

#— phoenix ignis. #divider by @/cafekitsune ♡ #getting back into writing via my ocs YEAHHHH 🗣🗣❗️❗️❗️ #genshin oc #genshin impact oc

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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#gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #vampire gojo #vampire #tw: loss of virginity #tw: yandere #jujustu kaisen #gojo x you #bree's fics!

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

#suzsblinddatewritingchallenge #targaryenvampireslayer #suz's writing challenge #writing challenge #filthy impetuous souls #jen writes #prompted #enemies to lovers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #curvy!reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan characters #protective!bucky barnes #sniper!reader #winter soldier #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes imagines

[strawberrystepmom]

pro hero deku and f!reader are married, adults, and are very perplexed at how one spandex suit can be so tight. divider by cafekitsune like usual xo

“Izuku,” you mutter from behind him, bracing one of your arms with your opposite hand as you try again to help zip him into the prototype for his newest and “safest suit ever” (as Hatsune claimed via phone call with the two of you last night) but the fabric simply has zero give where it stretches over his chest. “Baby, I think she must have sized this incorrectly.”

Your husband shakes his head, the slightly overgrown curls at the base of his neck swaying gently with the motion. You loosen your grip on the zipper pull, indentations left in your fingers from the grip you just had on the small piece of metal and reach up toward his neck and gently scratch at the hairs with your nails. He sighs contentedly in response.

“No, I sent her the measurements myself. I know they were correct.”

You hum, still gently stroking the base of his neck and resting your cheek against the defined and still exposed muscle of his back. Turning your face slightly, you place a kiss just below the center of his shoulder blades and he reaches around his back to rub your back.

“How does it look from the front?” You ask smoothly, the dulcet sound of your voice drawing your husband to pull away from you for a moment so brief you barely have time to miss him. You’re met with the front view of his suit, the fabric buckling across his now eye-level chest.

You sigh dreamily and he chuckles from above you, bringing his hands to your hips to press your body against his.

“You like it?”

A hum is your response, wrapping your arms around his waist and reaching for the zipper at the back to tug it down from its stuck position. Heat rises inside of you, your fingers gracing every divot, scar, and defined muscle as you tug it down lower and lower.

“I think we should re-take your measurements.”

The zipper finally reaches the bottom and you nearly sigh at the sight of Izuku stretching his arms above his head, the rest of the suit riding up and sinking into the definition of his stomach, his thighs, his bulge…

Izuku notices the little glimmer in your eyes as you look over him, every piece of him more essential to you than the last. He dips at the waist and finds your face easily, pressing his lips to yours and working his arms out of the suit and letting it rest halfway off around his waist.

“We can worry about that later, right?”

You hum against his lips and kiss him again, the promise of later something far from your mind.

#midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #mimidoriya #kendall writes

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

?

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller angst #infidelity joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel smut #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel x oc #angst fic

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ sultry vindications

🏁 Pairings : Max verstappen X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : Smut, just straight smut. warning below the cut

🏁 Word Count : 2.7k words (2763 words)

🏁 Summary : Today, of all days, is the worst time to tease your boyfriend. And sometimes, you just neeed to take a long, hard look in the mirror to realise

🏁 translations via radio comm below

🏁 credits : word dividers by @cafekitsune, motivation by @vroomvroomcircuit

🏁 Music player : Perfect strangers by Jonas blue, JP Cooper

warning : Swearing, p in v, fem recieving! oral, spit talk, spanking, dirty words [like damn], reeader is a brat lmk if I missed any <33

“-So I told her that, if you need me to bury a dead body, I have the money and the skill.” You spoke into the phone, giggling with your best friend as you walked throughout your apartment, throwing odd pieces of clothing into your arms.

“I know! I would be amazing at it.” You sighed, shoving the dirty laundry into the open machine before shutting the door with your hip and pressing a few buttons haphazardly.

Crossing over the foyer, you fall onto the sofa, laying your head back against the headrest, “Yeah, and then he had the audac- umpph.” You stop mid-sentence, grunting under the weight of a heavy head being rested on your shoulder.

“Oh, hey baby,” you whisper, glancing down at Max, whose face was still buried into your sweater, merely getting a groan of confirmation from him, “Yeah…okay I’ll call you back Kika.”

You throw the device further down the couch, burying your free hands into his hair, “Hey schat-“ He groaned, picking up his neck to launch the rest of his body over the back of the sofa and land clumsily next to you, nose diving into the pillows,”- Neuk mij.”

“Oh, okay.” You raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he pushed himself upright, “You look…annoyed?”

“Yeah- I am.” He grumbled, throwing his head back, “Couldn’t get past even half of my normal weight today.”

“Awh, c’mon Maxie, that isn’t too bad,” You cooed at him, throwing your leg over his to slot it between his thighs as you scooched closer to him.

“That’s like 90kg schat,” He glanced at you, eyebrows furrowing when you stifled a laugh, “You’re laughing.”

“I mean yeah,” You shrugged, “It’s funny watching the big bad max, turn into nothing but, this-“You gestured to him, legs spread widely as he stared at you, arms crossed over one another, “Because what? You weren’t as testosterone-y as you wanted to be?”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek and ruffle his sweaty hair, leaving the thick strands to fall over his creased forehead, “It’s okay, you’ll always be my softy.” Leaving him in the living room, you went to the kitchen, suddenly reminded of the dishes that say waiting to be put away in the washer.  

“Really? Soft?” He grumbled, suddenly appearing behind you, thick arms looped around your waist.

“As a cloud,” You smirked, attempting to wriggle free of his vice-like grip, to no avail, “Babe, let me go.”

Gasping, you felt him twist you around and rested his forehead against yours, his usual baby blue eyes becoming a darker sapphire, “Take it back.”

You harrumphed, crossing your arms over and puffing out your chest, “make me.’ You narrowed your eyes at him, despite the erratic thundering of your heart.

Max matched your gaze, usually wide eyes squinted to a menacing stare before he kissed you. Unlike every other time he kissed you, his lips claimed yours, ensnaring you in an intoxicating haze that made your knees buckle and thank the heavens for the strong grip he had around your waist. He pressed you against the sink, disregarding the annoyed squeal that you let out when the back of your dress became soaked, instead he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The taste of him stained your taste buds, making you gasp and moan against him, wrenching your hands away from the counter to instead, latch them onto any part of his body they found available, moving sporadically from his thick shoulders to his grabbable waist and up until his neck where you had tugged at his hair in just the right way that made him groan and guide the pair of you away from the kitchen.

“shit” You gaped, licking your lips savouring his flavour melded with yours, unwanting to flutter open your eyes, lest the fog be pierced through with the unwanted clarity of your reality.

Thankfully, Max met you halfway between your desperate attempts of pulling him against your chest and dove to your exposed neck, sandwiching you between his form and the wall mere inches away from your bedroom door.

He sucked and nipped at your tender skin, trailing his lips down from your ear to the column of your neck, until your collarbone, where he found purchase on the area which made you gasp and arch into his hold, “You ready to take it back yet?” He smirked against you, watching his passion form into multiple purple-ish love bites.

“Not, hah, not really.” You attempt to shrug, but instead your eyes fly open when you feel him press his thigh against your core, “Ohh, you play dirty.” You hiss, bringing him away from your neck to slot your lips together once more, this time properly fighting for dominance with him, your faces melding against each other languidly as heavy breathes left both of you in tumultuous pants.

You barely registered the door clicking upon until he had you locked against the backside of it caging you between his arms, both palms braced next to your head as you cradled his cheeks in your hands.

“Off.” You demanded, tugging at his shirt, barely inching away so that he could rip off the article, throwing it somewhere for it to be collected later.

Your eyes glittered as you admired his chest, muscles rippling and pecs heaving as he shivered when your nails tugged at his nipples ever-so slightly.

Max held you again, this time trailing one of his hands up and under the material of your shirt, until his fingers breached the band of your bra, and instead of doing thee sane thing.

Max pulled away from your lips, looking at you expectantly for your retraction of your statement, consequently when you didn’t give him what he wanted, he hooked his fingers upwards and tore through the material. Leaving only the sound of your squeal and ripping fabric to permeate in the room.

“Max, that was prada, do you seriously need to cave-man your way through things?”

“Watch your mouth.” He answered darkly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll fuck it.”

You stared at him, the overwhelming butterflies had morphed into something darker, needier, controlling you in a way that made you want him to grab you buy the hair and shove his length down your throat until you cried.

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“You too chicken?”

Max gripped your wrist, pulling you towards the mirror, positioning you until you could see both of your reflections perfectly in the large surface, both of you were red, cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly.

“Strip.”

“What are you, the TSA?”

He growled and dropped to his knees before gripping your lounge pants and tugged them off as well, letting them pool at your ankles, leaving you in just a sweater and panties, exposed to your own eyes as your gaze remained transfixed on his.

You whine and nearly double over when you felt his finger prod the wet fabric that remained soaked over your folds, “You don’t stop watching, schat, want you watching me as I fuck you senseless.” You shiver as he brings his mouth closer towards the leaking cotton, hot breath fanning over your slick covered clothing.

“Stop-“ You whimper, tugging at the waistband, begging for him to give it the same treatment as your bra, “Take, hah, take it off. Please”

“Not so bold anymore, are you?” He chides, bringing one hand away from your thigh to deliver a harsh slap to your ass, hovering over your rippling skin to soothe the sting, “Hm? Too whored out to listen now?”

“I should be getting paid for this then.” You breathe out, laughing to yourself until he meets your dazed eyes in the mirror. Keeping you transfixed on his movements, Max shucks the crotch of your panties to the side too dip a singular finger into your folds before he nudges your clit and blows cool air onto the throbbing bundle.

You hiss and brace yourself on your knees, pushing back against his face, “Ahh, Fuck.”

Max grins, and licks a fat stripe within your pussy, clicking his tongue when he feels you flutter around the muscle and tastes your lust again, and again. Until you’re shaking and moaning, struggling to keep an eye on the reflective surface ahead.

“Don’t stop” You beg, arching backwards until your hands find his hair and you begin to guide his head against your sex, the feeling of euphoria ever rising in quick leaps and bounds.

Until it doesn’t.

You gasp sharply and almost scream when Max detaches from you with a satisfied sigh, a dazed look in his eyes as he watches tears prick on your eyelashes and you turn to look at him, betrayed, “What? You looked away,” He shrugged, standing up again before wiping at his mouth and licking the glistening wetness from his fingers.

You blubbered, mouth moving silently as no sound managed to escape your throat.

“Yes?” Max watched patiently as you crumpled and sunk to the floor infront of him, obediently waiting on your knees, “Look so verdomd perfect.” He hummed, tilting his head affectionately before crooking his fingers and gesturing for you to approach him at his perch on your shared bed.

Just as you were about to stand upright and scurry to him, Max tutted and with his foot, kept a heavy weight on your back. Your eyes widened up at his smug expression, until you grumbled under your breath and scuffled closer to him on your hands and knees.

A painfully embarrassed blush leached into your cheeks, “God- so humiliating.” You hiss, resting your cheek against his thigh.

“You wanna listen now?” Max bit his lip when you paused mid-eye roll, nose twitching when the once tender graze of his fingers against your chin turned into a harsher pull.

“Yeah, just really want to…” You trail off, a self-aware silence donning your tongue.

“You’re going to have to tell me..”

“I would rather not.”

“Well-“ He nodded and began to rise ”-that saves time.”

“No, no-“ You tug at his pant leg, “really want to..cum.” You bitterly mutter.

Max hummed in approval, hand coming to pet your head, “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

He tugged your head back using your hair, smiling cruelly when you hissed but giggled, “Fucking twisted… You like this, don’t you?” He waited over your open mouth before colleccting spit in his mouth, and dropped the degrading drop into your waiting mouth.

“’Dunno.” You gulped, gasping at the searing hot feeling that scuttled over your chest and throat.

“You sure?”

He guided you up, pulling your panties off simultaneously before sitting you onto his lap, balancing you on his spread thighs, “You sure?” Max cocked his head at you, holding your neck with one hand, the other keeping your waist in place against him.

“Crystal fucking clear.” You’re half tempted to spit on him but refrain from doing so when he arches a daring brow at you.

He swivelled you around in his hold, facing both of you into the mirror once again, but this time, you're back is flush against his chest, head resting limply on his shoulder until his fingers comes up to guide your gaze on his other hand that goes down to his gym shorts.

You shudder when he pulls out his cock, tall and proud in his fist with a red tip leaking pre-cum that made your mouth water and eyes shine.

Max chuckles at your expression, and slaps the tip against your ass a few times, “See that mijn hoer? Look how cockdrunk you look.”

“In, Max, please.” You beg quietly, shaking your hips in hopes he would slip it into your aching hole and heal you of the needy pit that had begun to blossom since the first time he left you high and dry.

“Didn’t hear you schat, speak up.” He ran his dick up and down the seam of your pussy, coating it in your juices and hissed when you shot up, feeling him barely slip into you.

“Please, fuck, Please I’ll do anything, just please fuck me, Goddamit Max I swe-“ You’re cut off by a medley of both your moans as he pushes in his length, “Fuck-“ You squeal, watching as you barely manage to sink down half way, “So big, feel so full Maxie, wanna take all of you though, wanna take it all.” You drool dumbly, forcing your hips lower despite the iron grip he has on them.

“Desperate, aren’t you?” He bites your ear before trailing soft kisses up and down the column pf your neck, even deviating away to pepper his lips at the back of your throat and down your spine.

“Yeah” You follow along, pushing further until you could feel a delightful resistance to your determination and your breathing labours.

“You’ll get hurt-“ He protests, already gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw in an attempt to stave of the luxurious pleasure, “Don’t, I’m serious.”

You interrupt his warning by pressing with more force, until you slip down his length rapidly, causing him to choke and groan, dark, ocean eyes rolling back as he lets himself fall back against the bed, “Fuck, schat, why- why would you do that?”

Ignoring his protest, you roll your hips, moaning loudly when his tip nudges the spongy part furthest within you. You continue to take pleasure from Max, biting your lips and bouncing on his cock with his help, of course, revelling in the feeling of his wandering hand coming up to tweak your nipples our cup your bouncing breasts from his position, laying down on the thick comforter that remained ruined beneath him.

The feeling approaches again, hesitantly like the playful shore breaching the sand and you welcome the sparks of passion with a guttural moan, until Max stops your reverent movements, causing you twitch and whine helplessly, the jittery sea already cresting away from you, taking its astringent sweetness along with it.

“Max.” You scold kicking your legs out.

“You” He thrusts up one, snickering when you fall forward, “Looked” He thrusts again, this time sitting up and plastering his sweaty chest to your back, “Away.” He thrusts once more before stilling and watching as the haze filters out of your pupils, leaving you just as wheepy as you once were, if not more.

“I was so close,” You cried, fat tears running down your cheeks, “You and this stupid mirror,” You curse, sniffling when his fingers came up to wipe away the tears sweetly.

“C’mon,” He urges, guiding your hips once more, “I know you can do it” Max encourages.

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” You promise, allowing him to bind both of your hands together behind your back with his own nimble fingers.

“Sure you will.” He satiates your mindless babbling, watching, amused as you begin to rut your hips continually, clenching around his cock in a way that makes him delirious.

Guiding you, Max controls your movements, one hand around your wrist whilst the other remains tucked between your thighs, tapping, and circling your clit until you begin to quiver and shake around him, just this time, your eyes remain glued ahead.

Whether you’re focusing or not, is another question, but even as your jaw goes slack and eyelashes flutter, your eyes remain open.

Max slaps harshly against your bundle of nerves, grunting throatily when you clench even harder and twitch in beetween your rabid bounces, “Doing so well f’me, yeah?”

You nod your head numbly, spit escaping between your lips and trailing down between your breasts, “Gonna cum Maxie.” You mumble, thighs already quaking and squeezing closed as Max follows suit, his grip on your body intensifying tenfold and cock pulsating until you can feel ropes of cum shoot within your walls, painting your insides with white.

This prompts you to moan, and throw your head back, finally giving up on the inter-personal staring contest to experience the long sought after wash of titillating pleasure and toe-curling bliss that makes your irises disappear within your skull.

Your vision spotted and faded a few times, until you could feel familiar pads of fingers run against your jaw, tapping gently, “Mijn liefje?”

“Mijn liefje? ben je oke?” Max asked again, this time shaking your head slightly, which remained limp against now what seemed to be his arm that wrapped like a poised snake around your breasts, balancing your chin.

“So good.” You confirm, weakly giving a thumbs up before noticing the slight red marks that adorned your wrists, which prompted you to hiss and inspect them, despite the lack of pain.

“Oh shit, does it hurt?” He took your wrists from you, pressing feather light kisses against them whilst rubbing his thumb against the skin, all whilst also brushing your hair out of your face.

“Max you are still inside of me.” You sass, clenching around him as proof, which makes him shudder and wheeze before going back to soothing your skin.

“Yeah, but it looks like it hurts” He coos, bringing a hand down to your ass, where visible handprints were already forming.

“It doesn’t”

“Yeah, it does.” His blonde eyebrows crease with worry as he leans further back, his eyes darting between the bright red indents of his fingers on your hips and the few dozen of love bites that seem to spread through the expanse of your backside, leading futher to your front.

“No max,” You hold his face, kissing his nose once before biting his cheek playfully, “It really doesn’t, I like them- you marked your territory” your voice drops, following his expressions closely, with a cheeky smile.

“What?”

“It means, I’m yours.”

“Well...” He clears his throat once, adjusting himself and you, so that you were now comfortably laying on the bed beneath his hungry, predatory gaze, still buried deep inside you, “You cannot blame me for what happens next.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

Neuk mij - Fuck me

verdomd perfect - Damn perfect

mijn hoer - My whore

Mijn liefje - My darling

Mijn liefje? ben je oke - My darling? are you OK

MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [vroomvroomcircuit. [tagged above], @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #Max Verstappen #Max Verstappen imagine #Max Verstappen x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 smut #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1 x female reader #Max Verstappen fanfic #Max Verstappen fluff #Max Verstappen blurb #Max Verstappen smut #Max Verstappen x you #f1blr #[darlingwrites]

[abadbitchblogs]

SOS

Part 2

Pairing: Jey Uso x OC x Damian Priest

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: Thank you all so much for all the love! I couldn't have asked for a better reception of my art. You all inspired this next part! Likes, comments, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Mwah!

-credit to @cafekitsune for the divider

If it weren't for the 15 text messages from Joshua and the Instagram spam from Damian, she could swear that last night was a dream. One minute she was partying with her best friend and the next she was trying not to catch a case. Then she found solace in an unlikely companion. Her head was honestly still spinning from trying to process everything that happened less than 12 hours ago. Work was definitely going to be- something today, that much was certain. After she opted to just block Josh, she smirked at her notifications being flooded by thearcherofinfamy. He was obviously trying to get her attention since he didn't have her number. The drive to the arena would take less than an hour if traffic was nice to her so she had time to kill before the superstars were set to arrive. Kendall decided to play with the dark priest and thought to lure him out via DM.

[kenthedoll_] Meet me in an hour

[archerofinfamy] That didnt sound like a question

[kenthedoll_] Bc it wasnt, yk you wanna

[archerofinfamy] Alright I’m in

[kenthedoll_] I was counting on it. Meet me at my room

[archerofinfamy] Yes ma’am 

Well it was already 10 AM so going to the gym was out of the question which meant today would be a day of indulgence. Finally rolling out of the bed for the morning, Kendall danced through her daily routine with Bongos  blasting on her portable speaker. Damian felt so new- exciting! There was something just effortless and easy about being around him that caught her attention. Ken googled brunch spots on the beach so they had a chance to take in the scenery before they went home after the show. The weather called for a little white tee and shorts combo but she kept it cute pairing it with some comfortable loafers. Dressing like an Instagram baddie 24/7 was too much work for her. When she wasn't on screen or out on the town, she was more of a comfortable girly. In the few moments left before Damian was supposed to show up, she made sure her stuff was packed for the show then her flight home in the morning. You had to stay ready even if you weren't scheduled for the show in case any last minute changes occurred.

Right on cue at 11:15 three knocks rapped against her door to which she skipped over to snatch it open. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her tone was playful as she smiled at his classic bad boy appearance. “Good morning to you too, cariña.” The corner of his lips quirked up in a subtle smile that she found cute. Despite his dark wardrobe, his presence alone filled the air with warmth. The kind that kept the house smelling like chocolate chip cookies hours after they'd been baked. “I hope you like french toast and mimosas because we have reservations.” She didn't wait for a response as she took his hand leading him to the elevator after making sure her door locked behind them. “I don't care what we eat when my view looks like this.” A snort shot through the hallway at his cheesy line but she found his doting to be refreshing.  “Do you use that line often?” Kendall mused while leaning against the wall observing his mannerisms to familiarize herself with him. “My first time. Did it land?”

All she could do was put her head down to hide her amusement not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could fluster her so easily. The elevator dinged, signaling that they had reached the lobby and she ushered him to the back entrance of the hotel to allow them to walk on the boardwalk. “I hope I’m not keeping you from any leadership duties. I know you run a tight ship.” Damian thought Kendall was so different from the other women on the roster. No one ever really said what they were actually thinking but she did. She was inquisitive, direct, and original. “If you're wondering if I told them that I would be with you, I didn't. I wasn't sure if this was a secret rendezvous or not.” Ken laughed at his uncertainty as they walked side by side to the restaurant. “Think of this as a qualifier for you getting that number you asked for. I wanna know if you are as interesting as I think you are.” “Guess I better show you what you're missing.”

The confidence in Damian’s statement made her pulse quicken, her brown skin prickling with goosebumps. When the pair arrived at the restaurant, he made it his business to open the door for her and pull her chair out once they were seated. As they sat across from each other, her counterpart scanned the menu making small talk about what they would order but she was fixated on him. Kendall snapped out of the trance when he put his  menu down to see why she wasn't responding to him. A smile tugged on his lips whilst he leaned forward on his forearms, bathing her in the attention she was giving him. “I would ask if you see something you like but if you said yes, I'd have to do something about it and we’re in public.” Kendall mimicked his actions with a grin playing on her lips. “Well you know I love to perform.” The silence that settled over the table fueled the intense stare down between the two; the air crackling with desire.

Damian carefully contemplated what he was going to say next. Should he tell her that he wanted to eat her on that very table or should he change the subject? Before he could decide, the waiter came over to take their orders breaking their fierce eye contact. Glancing down at her menu briefly, she decided to make the most out of her cheat day. French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries while her counterpart opted for something high in protein like steak and eggs. The tension was still palpable after the waiter left with Damian shifting to lean back in his chair with his eyes locked onto hers. “How come you don't call me Luis like everyone else?” Taking a sip of her orange juice then mirroring his posture, Ken gave him a small smile. “Because I’m not like everybody else if you haven't noticed.” 

Once their meals arrived, they ate in comfortable silence stealing little glances at one another between bites. In true woman fashion she longed for some of his food even though her own was good. He noticed her eyes flickering back and forth to his plate so he wordlessly sliced a piece of his steak and held the fork out to her. Instead of pinching the meat off with her manicured fingertips, she rose up slightly to lean across the table and wrap her lips around his fork.  All the air in his lungs evaporated as she let out a hum of satisfaction while looking him dead in the eyes through her lashes. If he didn't drink the complimentary ice water, his boiling blood was going to start traveling south. “Is it good?” At that point he didn't even know if he was referring to the food or not. “The best.” Her tone was definite. They were indeed not talking about food.                                                      

Food was finished and the check was placed on the table. Damian looked at her, she looked at Damian then they both looked down at the bill. Snatching the envelope off the table at the speed of light, he waved it at her in triumph. “Gotta be quicker than that, princess.” Damian placed his card in the pocket making sure he held on to it as they got up to leave. “I asked you out so I should be the one paying.” Kendall argued, crossing her arms over her chest to look more intimidating but it just made him laugh at her bratty nature. “Ah so you admit this was a date.” His chin raised in victory, his back rested against the hostess counter while they ran his card. “Maybe.” She shrugged heading for the exit once the staff returned his card. He chased after her, catching up to walk beside her back down the boardwalk to their hotel making sure was on the other side of oncoming foot traffic. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you?” Though it was posed as a question, she knew it was rhetorical and he was teasing her. “Well I am a Taurus.” It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world to her but he wasn't really into the whole zodiac sign thing. 

The whole walk back consisted of the two bumping into each other like they were on a different planet with no gravity. Even while they waited for the elevator, he found his eyes glued to her smaller frame until they moved to board. Both of their minds seemed to be so preoccupied that when the ding alerted them that they had arrived on her floor, it startled them a little. “After you,” In a sweeping motion, he allowed her to exit first as he watched the way her jean shorts seemed to hug her ass the way he wanted to. When they reached her door, they felt a sense of deja-vu all over again. “Well that was…” She struggled to find a word that could describe the date they just had. “Exhilarating.” Damian breathed out in agreement. He was nearly pressing her against the door as he peered down at her in adoration, “I think we should do it again.” Ken wordlessly held her hand out for his phone. Damian took the hint, pulling his phone from his pocket and gently placing it in her palm.  She saved her number in his phone under ‘Princess’ before handing it back to him. How fitting.

His body was tingling with the need to grab her and kiss those lips that always managed to stay glossy all the time. But they had to get ready to head to the arena soon; as much as he wanted to be the reason she was late, he didn't want her to get in trouble. “Do you want to ride with us there?” He offered half because he wanted to make sure she could get there okay and half because he wanted to spend more time with her. “Nah, I have a rental and I'm not fighting five people for the AUX.” “Alright then I’ll see you there.” His soft tone was accompanied with a curt nod and he knew he was supposed to walk away but his feet just wouldn't move. “See you later, Luis.” She laughed, gently pushing on his chest to give him some momentum to make it back to the elevator. He walked backward toward the elevator never taking his eyes off of her before she gave him a little wave before disappearing inside her room to get ready. 

Ken sat perched on a crate in an empty hallway backstage as she cackled on facetime with Trin who wanted to know what was going on with her and Luis. “Mmm, who you looking cute for Miss Ma'am?” Her friend instigated causing her jaw to drop to drop at the implication. “Um, not too much. I always look good.” Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped when Trinity replied with a deadpan. “Yeah but when you're not scheduled for any screen time, you go for cute and comfortable. You got your titties sitting, legs all out and everything.” She lifted her phone up, angling it down to fit her whole body in the frame. “And is!” The two of them were cutting up so much in the secluded area that she didn't hear footsteps approaching until she felt a strong presence beside her. 

Her smile slid right off her face when she looked over to see Joshua. “I gotta go, sis. I’ll text you.” Just as Trin was about to ask her who had her moving like that, she hung up on her knowing that was probably gon get her cursed out later. “Joshua.” She hoped her flat tone would deter him from saying whatever he was going to say and ruining her mood. “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” Slowly scooting off of the crate, the girl held her hand up in dismissal. “Like I said before, we don't have anything to talk about. I’m good.” His gaze used to make her feel invincible but now she found herself trying to tug her skirt down in discomfort. “Please. You don't even have to say anything. Just listen. I wanna apologize.” In her mind she was debating on whether or not she could listen to his explanation. She really did want to put the shit behind her so she could fully let go- let him go, but now that he was in front of her, she knew she wasn't ready yet.

“I just can't do this right now, Joshua.” Kendall moved to walk past him only to be stopped by him grabbing ahold of her hand. “Wait-” “Stop doing that shit!” Snatching her hand from his grasp she quickly composed herself not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to them. “Stop smothering me. You can’t go from ignoring me for years to popping up on me and texting me fifty fuckin times. I’m not your bitch. Never was. I don’t owe you a damn thing. IF I decide to listen to whatever excuses you have, it’ll be on my time- not yours.” She walked away to take a breather when she turned the corner and smacked right into someone while she was lost in her thoughts. “My bad. I wasn't paying attention.” However when she looked up, she locked eyes with Señor MITB. “We have got to stop meeting like this, princess.” His stomach buzzed upon seeing her but when he noticed her agitated state his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay? What's wrong?” Shrugging the previous spat off, Ken instantly brightened up at his concern for her well being. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her teasing tone sent them into their own little bubble as they stood there making googly eyes at each other. 

Before Luis could respond, Josh rounded the corner she just came from and almost tripped over his own feet stopping to watch their interaction. Luis gave him a friendly head nod with his signature half smile when he realized they had an audience. “Wassup, uce.” Kendall swore she was so annoyed that a visible irk mark actually appeared on her forehead. “What's up, bro.” Jey’s cold demeanor confused him but he chose not to question it. Instead his eyes drank in her figure before lifting to connect to hers again. “You look fucking amazing.” “I try.” She grinned recognizing that familiar glint in his eyes. “I was actually looking for you because I just had an interesting meeting with creative.” “Oh yeah?” She arched her perfectly plucked eyebrow in intrigue. “Turns out they think Damian Priest would be more susceptible to leave Judgement Day because of a woman.” Now that was the last thing she expected him to say.  “Looks like Carsyn and Damian Priest are going to be entwined soon.” “I look forward to it.” 

A stagehand interrupted their heated exchange to tell Damian that his match was on in ten minutes. “Good luck out there, champ.” Luis patted his championship with one hand then raised his briefcase with the other. “I don’t need luck, but I think a kiss would give me a little motivation.” Her brows shot to her hairline being surprised by his boldness before patting his chest. “Win and I’ll think about it.” She smirked then turned on her heel to head to catering. “And don’t look at my ass.” Ken called behind her even though she knew he was most definitely watching her walk away. Luis shook his head in disbelief before going in the opposite direction to meet Finn by the gorilla. 

Kendall watched tag team champs defend their titles against DIY on the monitor in catering. All the close calls had her abandoning the food on her plate because she was too anxious to eat. Winning matches was always the goal but being safe as entertainers and athletes was top priority. Damian could hold his own but they were doing a great job selling the match because those kicks had her wincing for him. The match finally ended with The Judgment Day retaining the Undisputed Tag Team championships. Smiling proudly to herself, she continued to push her food around her plate, having lost her appetite when her phone buzzed with a text message from ‘Papi Chulo’. 

[Papi Chulo] Now back to that kiss

[Princess] I said I would think about it

[Papi Chulo] Don’t make me take it

[Princess] Is that a threat or a promise

[Papi Chulo] It's a warning

A tingle shot up her spine in anticipation. Tossing her food in the garbage, Ken left catering intent on furthering their game of chicken. 

[Princess] Catch me if you can

She was making quick work of trying to find a place to hide while superstars and staff looked on in confusion at her speedy movements. Rounding a random corner, she threw herself into the first storage closet she saw. They never took particularly long showers at arenas so she knew he'd be hot on her trail any second. Placing her hand on her chest to calm the pounding of her heart, she sucked in a breath hearing movement outside the door. Waiting with bated breath for something to happen, she slowly exhaled when the feet in front of the door continued on down the hallway. Kendall went to check her phone for any messages from him when the door burst open making her squeal and drop her phone. There he stood with a wolfish grin plastered on his face as he closed the door behind him. “I found you, little lamb.”

Every step she took backward, he stalked forward with his long legs crossing the small space in mere seconds. “That was fast.” Her adrenaline spiked again as her back hit the wall allowing his tall frame to cage her in. “What can I say? I had business to take care of.” His deep voice filled the air like smoke making her feel lightheaded as she laid her hands on his chest to ground herself. “And what business is that?” He wrapped a strong forearm around her waist pressing their bodies flush together and cradled the back of her neck with his other hand. “You.” Any words on her tongue died when he connected their lips in a passionate kiss. It felt like all the air left her body then came rushing back. Draping her arms over his neck, she leaned up on her tiptoes to deepen the lip lock. Ken let out a quiet moan feeling like she was slipping from reality as he held her. Hearing her sounds of approval urged him to lower his hand to grab a handful of her ass.

Willing herself to pull back from the kiss, Luis chased her lips coaxing a giggle out of her. “You’re intoxicating, muneca.” His voice was low but his stare was burning right through her. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.” He laughed, moving to snake his arms around her small waist maintaining their closeness. “Careful. That effect gon have your ankles making friends with your ears.” The fire between them was spiraling- warping into something insatiable. “Is that a threat or a promise?” Kendall challenged only to receive a harsh squeeze to her ass. “Definitely a promise.” Tugging her hand to lead them out of the closet, he poked his head out of the door to make sure the coast was clear. “Let’s get outta here. I’ll drive.”

kenthedoll_

kenthedoll_  In my soft girl era 

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archerofinfamy the fairest of them all

↳ kenthedoll_ 👸🏾

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Taglist:

@alichesmi @reci1996 @vall3yslug @2-muchsauce @wrestlingprincess80

#jey uso #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #dividers #wwe x reader #wwe #damian priest #jey uso x reader #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagine #damian priest x reader #damian priest imagine #damian priest smut #jey uso smut #jeysuso #black!reader #black reader #black authors #love triangle #wwe x oc #jey uso fic #sos #abadbitchblogs

[rinneverse]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ࿐ ˚ . DON'T YOU TRUST ME? ♡

— sampo x f!reader. updates sporadically! read on ao3 here!

୨ৎ syn. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski—seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

୨ৎ current wc. 12.4k.

୨ৎ cw. friends w/ benefits (yeah it's cliche so what), fem reader, lots of sex. alot., pining, pining, did i mention pining, sampo is a little bit of a sleazebag but we love him for who he is, modern au!belobog, alcohol mentions, sampo likes to call you pretty girl (but other pet names are mentioned too), sampo is also generally implied to be bigger than reader, each chapter comes with their own individual warnings - please make sure you read those, too!

୨ৎ love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. this series is dedicated to my wife (swe), and to all my fellow sampo likers out there. very nervous posting this since its my first series ive ever posted on here ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope it doesn't disappoint!

୨ৎ friendly reminder: minors and ageless blogs DNI !!! nsfw content ahead !!!

ㅤㅤ[ I. ] HEAVEN & BACK.

੭* ‧₊° you remember the beginning of your relationship with sampo koski, and think about where you're currently at now. sampo surprises you when he asks if you'd like to stay the night... and to your own surprise, you agree. (6.8k)

ㅤㅤ[ II. ] UNDER PRESSURE.

੭* ‧₊° you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

ㅤㅤ[ III. ] EMPTY.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ IV. ] CALL ME BACK.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ V. ] OBSESSIVE.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ VI. ] LOVE IS (NOT) EASY.

tba.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #hsr x reader #sampo smut #sampo koski smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #☆ oakie writes #☆ series: don't you trust me? #dividers via @cafekitsune !!

[bleach-your-panties]

Hi! For the sexy prompt: number 35 and Kensei, please.

Since I'm back on the sexy prompt list, here you go, my love!

“Please, Kensei…this shit isn’t - h~haaah - fair!” 

You whined to your gray-haired boyfriend, who currently had you pinned against his desk in front of him with your voluptuous ass cheeks spread open while he finger-fucked you from the back.

Kensei’s lips turned up in a smirk while he moved his free hand to thread those thick, calloused fingers through your hair and tug your head back.

“Huh? What's not fair about it, baby? Aren't I knuckle-deep in that sweet cunt right now?” 

He got his answer from the filthy squelching sounds that emanated around the room as he twisted and turned them against your walls, driving them right up against your G-spot.

Your pussy dribbled all along those rough digits and Kensei kept on thrusting them inside you harder and faster.

Jaw clenched and bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you let a small yelp loose when Kensei loosened his hold on your hair to smack his heavy hand against your ass cheek.

Bless your soul, you were trying with all your might to keep your volume down because Shuuhei and Mashiro were involved in a lieutenants’ meeting right next door.

“What's that, baby? I think you need to speak up. Tell Daddy what you crave.”

That unmistakeable knot in your lower belly was surely about to come undone, if only Kensei could move his fingers just a little harder to the left. 

“K-Ken…fuck, go hard, please…” You whimpered almost sadly, tears pooling in those gorgeous eyes.

Kensei almost felt bad for you as he gazed into your eyes. His stone gray ones regarded you with a telltale look of admiration plastered across his usually repressed features.

Glancing briefly at the door leading to his subordinates’ offices, a small smile upturned the corners of his lips.

“You know the drill, baby. Scream louder and I’ll fuck harder.”

----

💗🍡ᵗᵃᵍᵍⁱⁿᵍ: @sacredwarrior88

ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ🫶🏽

#kensei muguruma #kensei muguruma smut #kensei x reader #kensei muguruma x reader smut #kensei muguruma x reader #bleach kensei #kensei muguruma x you #💗💗🍡°ask box #💗💗🍡°requests #💗💗🍡°valued customers #💗💗🍡°mugurumx #💗💗🍡°bleach drabbles #💗💗🍡°bleach masterlist #divider via cafekitsune #sexy prompts #byp🌹

[sunshine-on-marz]

Just a Little Jealous

Dean Winchester x reader

This is inspired by the amazingly talented @via-l0ve ‘s French Mistake headcanons that I definitely recommend you read and drop a follow while you’re at it! Via is so unbelievably sweet and I’m so honored to have permission to build off of her work!

Divider by @ cafekitsune

You and Castiel had been studying lore in the bunker while Dean and Sam were on a hunt. You were expecting the normal routine when the boys got home, so when you heard the door unlock, you weren’t expecting Dean to be hugging you before you could even get to the staircase. “Hi baby, what’s going on?” You ask softly as he peppers you with kisses, Sam just chuckles but he’s also clearly a little frazzled. “You’ll never believe that just happened” Dean mutters into your hair as he kisses the top of your head. “Try us” you smile as you gesture to yourself and Cas, Dean just glares at the angel.

“Y/N!” Dead said, exasperated

The actor looks up, “Jensen?” They say, clearly confused. Dean’s shoulders slump as he sighs “y-yea, right, sorry” he says, rubbing his temple as he looks back up to see Cas- Misha. To see Misha walking over, then kissing you. Or not you, but you. “Oh hell” Dean mutters

After explaining you just sigh and pull Dean into a hug. “Well, for one, I will not be kissing Castiel. And for two, my actor person must be really dumb to pass on the chance to do this” you say, and Dean looks a bit confused until you pull him into a deep, long kiss. One that makes Castiel look away and Sam fake gag. Dean has a big smile on his face as you pull away. “What do I gotta do to get kissed like that more?” He teases, you smirk “apparently get jealous more” Dean gasps “I was not jealous!” He says definitely, you and Sam both scoff “you literally threatened Cas’ life like eight times on the drive home” Sam says. “Okay maybe I was just a little jealous, but in my defense Y/N KISSED CAS.” He says, making everyone laugh a bit. You smile up at him “not as hard as I just kissed you I hope” Dean nods in acknowledgment “not as hard as you just kissed me” he says as he throws his arm around you. “Yea and if you ever do that infront of me again I’ll vomit” Sam chimes in, Dean flips him off. “Is no one worried about this other world?” Cas asks. “I’m less worried now that you aren’t locking lips with y/n” Dean comments, you and Cas both sigh. This was gonna be quite an experience.

Laying awake at night as Dean clings to your side, one hand playing with your hair and the other wrapped tightly around your waist wasn’t very uncommon, and it wasn’t shocking that it happened tonight. “You alright?” You kiss the top of his head where it rests on your shoulder. “All good” he mumbles, you both know it’s a lie, but you also know that pushing for information won’t help anyone right now. “We can talk tomorrow, yea?” You whisper, he smiles up at you and nods.

Maybe he’d been more than just a little jealous

I HOPE YALL LIKED THISSSS and I’m so so so honored to have Via’s permission to write this!!!

I think it turned out well but I’d love to hear your feedback! Remember to reblog and maybe even add a comment for me! I love yall

#supernatural #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #dean supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural dean #dean x reader

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

🇷 🇺 🇳 🇳 🇮 🇳 🇬 🇴 🇳 🇪 🇲 🇵 🇹 🇾

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Genre: College Au, F!boy Gojo, Mildly Suggestive

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Drugs/Substances, Homewrecking

Word count: 367

[1:10am] - It wasn't part of the plan to arrive cross-faded to the function. Sharing two infused blunts led to another round of blue raspberry tequila mixers in your green solo cup. Depending on which color cup and corresponding glow stick bracelet you had, let everyone know what your relationship status was.

Pink = Taken

Purple = DTF

Light Blue = Single AF

And Green = Complicated

Your relationship wasn't complicated, much like everyone else who was probably lying about theirs via their cups of choice. You simply were sick of your current partner's childish antics, which ended up with your phone being on DND for the last week or so.

Not much to your surprise, another you were familiar with was drinking from a purple cup. He knew damn well his on-again/off-again girlfriend would have his head, yet there was she was yelling at him from what you could make out under the blacklights from across the room. She shoved him away, smacking his cup out of his hand.

He tries talking sense into her, but she shoves him, walking up the stairs to the second floor. You're not saying he deserves it, though. This is the same guy who's flirt with you in class asking if he could get a taste of your lip gloss whenever you happen to reapply it during your lectures together. Always staring at your lips.

Furthermore, you weren't a fan of her either. You're still on the fence about him, unsure if he's worth the risk.

You mistakenly make eye contact across the crowded room. His ocean eyes softened your way behind his snowy tresses despite what had transpired. He ran his hand through them as you waved him over, his diamond stud earrings catching your sight the closer he got.

"She stay giving you hell, huh blue eyes?"

He shakes his head, looking down at you. "She wasn't all that to begin with. I think tonight was her and I's last straw..."

Gojo lowered his lips towards the shell of your ear. "If you wanna cheer me up, nows the time."

"In the bathroom or in your car?" You asked and squeezed his hand.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in. "My car. Now."

Divider created by @cafekitsune

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #suggestive #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #jjk #jjk fanfic #timestamp #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime x you #jujutsu sorcerer #anime imagines #anime scenarios #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #college au #tw drugs #tw alchohol mention #gojo smut

[fetchingfletchling]

if angels did exist

suburban legends, chapter i

hey everyone, this is my first proper fic and I had a lot of fun writing it! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

dividers kindly provided by saradika on tumblr (tumblr.com/saradika-graphics)

warning banner by cafekitsune on tumblr (tumblr.com/cafekitsune)

next chapter →

pairing: sunday(hsr)/female!reader

tags: established relationship, foot fetish, foot jobs, lingerie, religious and childhood trauma on sundays side, cnc, soft femdom, kink negotiation, modern au, unprotected p in v sex, married couple, master/slave dynamic (just via roleplay tho), orgasm denial, creampie

summary: you and sunday have been married for a while but haven't been experimenting as much as you'd like in the bedroom due to him suffering from religious guilt that got instilled in him as a child. You help him to feel more comfortable with his sexual desires.

notes: this is a modern au, not set in the hsr universe but rather on earth as we know it. So no aeons and stuff. this story will be published in an episodic format, meaning the chapters, though connected, can be read as stand alone one-shots.

word count: 4.9k ao3 mirror here

You’re finally back home from brunch with your girl friends and as you take off your shoes your ears pick up two male voices echoing from the livingroom.

One of them you’d recognize anywhere and aren’t surprised to hear: it belongs to your dear husband, Sunday.

However, the second voice, though familiar, you didn’t expect to hear on a fine Saturday at four o’clock. In your home.

"What exactly am I looking at here, Aventurine?" As you stalk towards the direction of their muffled voices, you hear Sunday chastise the other man, tone full of disdain and agitation.

Through the milky glass of the door you can make out Sunday’s silver hair, as well as a blond man dressed in green, whom you’ve met a few times before — Aventurine — a business partner of your husbands. This is the first time he’s been over for a visit, though, and an unanounced one at that.

"Whoops, sorry, I guess that was the wrong folder," the other man responds sheepishly, although you don’t pick up on any shame or regret in his voice at all.

"Well get it out of my sight already, this is inappropriate and my wife will be home soon."

"Oh please, don’t act like you hate it. It’s just me here. You can be honest."

"You…ugh," Sunday groans and even with his figure blurred through the glass, you can still make out that he’s dropping his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, like he so often does when he’s irritated.

"Y’know friend, I heard through the grapevine that your wife hasn’t been all too satisfied with you lately," Aventurine states as he leans in closer to your husband before he continues, "You should consider spicing up things. I just thought I’d help you out, but I guess you don’t want that." He rolls his eyes and gestures dramatically.

"And who told you that?" He’s agitated at first but quickly shifts to a more defeated tone. "You know what, forget it. It’s none of your business so if there’s nothing else you need..." he doesn’t finish his sentence, politely implying that the other man should be making himself scarce.

Finally, you decide to make your presence known. Poor Sunday is clearly at his wits end with this shameless man, so it’s high time you stepped in.

"Hey honey, I’m back!" you call out, knocking on the door before letting yourself in.

Sunday scrambles to shut the laptop closed. Maybe with a bit too much force. When you walk in he’s looking at you like a mouse that’s come face to face with a hawk. You know him well enough to tell that a part of him is scared that you’ll give him hell and threaten to leave or punish him for having looked at something so "sinful", even though the rational part of him knows you would never.

"Oh, h-hey angel, how was it?" He sits up a little to straight, looking unnaturally stiff.

"It was great, dear. Bronya sends her regards," you chirp as you saunter over towards the sofa where Sunday is seated. "Aventurine, are you bullying my dear husband again?" You quirk an eyebrow as you challenge your guest playfully, all while trying to signal to Sunday that he’s not in any trouble.

"Me? Never!" the blond responds in a faux offended tone, not even trying to supress his chuckle.

"I was just showing him some…" he pauses dramatically, and very much on purpose. "…work documents, right?" he turns to Sunday, shit eating grin in place as always.

"Hmmm, that so?" You purr as you finally come to a stop before Sunday and lower yourself down to sit on his lap, snaking your arms around his neck and rubbing soothing circles into his neck and shoulders to alleviate some of the tension.

He’s clearly being eaten alive by guilt. "Love, I…"

Before Sunday can finish his sentence, however, Aventurine cuts in. "Well, look at the time," he exclaims as he packs up his device and rises to stand. "While I’d love to stay a little longer, my schedule says otherwise."

"Oh, leaving so soon already? I was just about to start dinner, you know."

"And that’s one more reason why I should be taking my leave. Wouldn’t want to impose on you, seeing as you probably didn’t expect to cook for a third person," he retorts.

"Alright then." You shrug and stand up. "Let me at least see you off then." You offer and lead the way, leaving Sunday behind in the living room. Alone with his own thoughts that you hope won’t torture him too much between now and when you walk back into that room in approximately two minutes.

As soon as you’re out of Sunday’s earshot you speak up. "You weren’t really showing him work related stuff, were you?" While the question itself comes off as inerrogative, you make sure to soften your delivery. You obviously know what really happened, and you want to make it clear that you’re not upset. Because you’re really not. This might just be the little nudge your husband needed to be more open, sexually.

"No." He admits, nonchalantly. "I just thought I’d do you a favor, is all." As you arrive at your destination he turns to lock eyes with you, with that usual arrogant grin gracing his features.

"Oh? How so?" You quirk an eyebrow at that.

"A little birdie told me that you told her about your boring sex life, so I just thought I’d give Sunday a little nudge. Isn’t that what friends do?"

Looks like Topaz is more of a gossip than you thought. You make a mental note not to answer her personal questions so honestly anymore.

"Hey," you stem your hands into your hips. "That’s not at all how I worded it, don’t make it sound like I was complaining." You pout. "It was her who initiated the topic and I just answered that I wish Sunday wouldn’t deny himself of things he clearly wants to try. That’s all." You sigh as you relax your tone and posture. "Who knew you were the meddlesome type, huh?"

"Oh I’m not. I just like to see that man lose his composure.~" He chuckles. "But hey, it might just work in your favor? Feel free to thank me later." And with that last bit he opens the door, heading straight for his pompous vehicle and driving off into the sunset.

"I’m sorry, darling. The truth is: we were looking at something…filthy."

Those are the words that spill out of your husbands quivering mouth as soon as you open the door to the living room. He’s now stood right in front of you, piercing your gaze with his pained one. His hands trail up to your biceps, tenderly rubbing and squeezing the area.

A part of you feels mad on his behalf, for the fact that he’s been conditioned to feel shame for his worldly desires. Particularly the sexual ones.

It’s been almost a year since you and Sunday started dating, and roughly four months since he went down on one knee to officially tie the knot with you. Faster than the average couple, you’re aware, but you had no doubts in your mind that he was the only one for you. You’d already lived together for a while, so you knew you were compatible as roommates, too.

One thing both of you were clear on from the start was that you wanted to remain childfree, perhaps only adopting pets somewhere down the line. Much to the chagrin of Sunday’s family. But really, they were — and most likely still are — less than approving of your union in general. You’re far from the ideal wife they decided was fit for their only son. They’re the type to care about pedigree, status and appearances more than anything. And given that you stem from a much lower social class than him — being a "nobody", so to speak — you were met with scrunched up noses and glares, rather than welcoming arms. Sunday was hesitant to introduce you in the first place, but back then you were still naïve and optimistic about meeting his family.

He gushed a lot about his sister, Robin, who sounded like a good person. Thus giving you confidence that this might apply to his parents and youngest sisters as well. At that point he hadn’t opened up much to you about his upbringing. He merely tried to dissuade you from meeting them by dropping vague hints at how strict and peculiar they are.

That was really underselling it.

You don’t think you’ve ever been regarded with as much passive-aggressiveness as on that first and final dinner with his parents. But the thing that really got your blood boiling was the way they talked about Sunday — all while in his presence, too. Not even your own parents were that controlling and degrading when talking about you.

"Oh, well I suppose our Sunday is at that age where modern men are too busy to settle down and start a family, but I don’t think it’s fair on this young lady if you toy with her feeling like this only to drop her in a few months, you know." His mother had sneered. You’re still reeling from her shrill voice.

That was also the first time you had ever seen Sunday truly mad. Your stomach was already well on it’s way to sinking, as you were used to men placating their parents at all cost and throwing you under the bus in the process. You knew most people valued their parents‘ approval more than oxygen, even if you no longer belonged to that demographic yourself. So it was a pleasant surprise when he stood up for you.

"That’s quite enough mother." Sunday interrupted her, almost growling and sending her a sharp look. He had placed his hand on top of yours, giving it a tight squeeze before resuming.

"I know you don’t want to accept this relationship, but I’m serious about her." He had glanced over to you and his gaze softened. "I feel safe with her. She makes me happier than any of the girls you’ve tried to put on me, so please stop treating my future wife so rudely. If you can’t do that, we have no reason to come back here." He had stated sternly, and at that his parents fell into stunned silence for a brief moment.

Too brief of a moment, you lament.

It didn’t take long for the them to process the shock of it all and begin fuming.

"How dare you speak to your mother like that!" His father had barked, face turning beet red. "We didn’t raise you this way! What happened, Sunday? It was that vixen, wasn’t it? She’s trying to turn you against us!" He had continued to cry out.

"Stop it, please–" Sunday had pleaded with weary eyes and even wearier tone. He had taken a pronounced inhale before decidedly rising from his seat and ushering you to do the same. He‘d rushed to gather your belongings and gripped your hand tightly, bolting out the door to their ridiculous, marble dining room. On the way to the front door you could still hear his parents losing their minds as you marched through the long corridors, letting him pull you along. You were so shocked that you didn’t have enough energy to hold yourself up properly, so you were grateful that he effortlessly pulled your weight along.

After that he hasn’t been in contact with them to this day. He said it was the last straw for him and refused to entertain their demands any longer.

Of course a part of you felt terrible about this development. You wish he could have a good relationship with them, you really do. But It’s a classic case of parents‘ hopes and expectations for their children being incompatible with what their progeny actually wants to do with their own life. And to be honest, you think this is what’s best for Sunday’s wellbeing in the long run. He’s already let the first quarter of his limited time on earth be dictated by them, the rest should be up to him.

That particular Tower was always destined to fall apart, because it was built on an unstable foundation to begin with.

"Oh Sunday." You sigh, placing your hands on his waist to pull him closer. "Please know that I’m not mad. I actually overheard a little of your conversation. I would’ve confronted you if I didn’t like you looking at that kind of stuff, honest." You smile to reassure him and pick your right hand up to caress his cheek.

He leans into your touch and exhales the heaviest sigh you’ve heard him make since that time he tried baking his first batch of cupcakes, without your assistance, and they came out as chunks of coal.

"I know, darling. You’re always so good to me, I feel bad for allowing fear to get the better of me."

You decide to test the waters. "So… how did you like what Aventurine showed you?" You bite your lip in anticipation.

"Oh, uhm," He jolts back ever so slightly, blush creeping onto his cheeks. "It was kind of hot, actually," he admits, voice growing weaker with every syllable.

"Really?" You perk up "Want to tell me if there’s anything you’d like to try?" You try to encourage him.

He swallows. His eyes dart to the side for a moment before he opens up.

"There was this one couple who roleplayed as master and slave. I’m ashamed to admit that it… excited me."

"The man was the master in that video, but I don’t think I can bring myself to treat you like that, love." He confesses, and goes to cup your cheeks with both of his hands now. He leans in for a chaste kiss, which you reciprocate with a little more passion, already getting riled up by the idea of exploring a master/slave dynamic with Sunday.

"I know, I won’t push you to do what you’re not comfortable with. But you’re saying you’d like to be the slave, then? You know I’m not experienced with domming either, but I’d love to try." You practically beam at him.

"So, do you want to try this tonight, perhaps? Or is that too sudden?" You check in with him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitance or discomfort.

"Yes, I think I’m finally ready to try something new. I know I’m safe with you. You would never shame me and mean it."

"Of course not." You throw your arms around his neck to draw him in for an eskimo kiss. You’re practically purring now. Maybe you really do have to thank Aventurine? No way, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, and it’s certainly none of his business. He already knows too much about your intimate life anyhow.

"So, do you want to go over the exact scenario now or after dinner? Oh! And don’t forget to come up with a safe word! And – And –" You’re rambling excitedly now, but a familiar gurgling sound soon disrupts your babbling.

Turns out your stomach has obtained independence and voted for the "after dinner" option.

Sunday chuckles. "Why don’t we have dinner first, hm? Leave the prepping to me." He envelops your hand with his and leads the way to your kitchen.

You can’t argue with that.

After you and Sunday had finished cooking and sat down to have dinner, you proceeded to discuss how you both want the rest of the evening to go. You set up safewords and talked about your limits in great detail.

Now you’re seated on your shared bed, having just finished changing into a new set of lingerie you couldn’t resist when it caught your eye in one of the shop windows on your casual stroll last week. The black lace of the babydoll accentuates the shape of your body nicely, while still leaving just a tiny bit left to the imagination. You decided to pair it with matching black stockings and – Sunday’s favorite – high heels.

His fetish for legs, feet and footwear is one of the few things he was open to incorporate even early on. The foot massages he offers of his own accord, coupled with the powerful feeling that surges through you when you manage to excite him with ease by putting on a sexy pair of shoes, are certainly a nice byproduct.

You check yourself in the tall mirror across from the bed one more time before calling out to him.

„You can come in now.“

The doorhandle clinks down and Sunday enters the room from outside, starting to walk towards you but stopping not even a second later as he registers your appearance.

„Damn…“ he mutters as an almost pained groan threatens to leave him.

„You look gorgeous in that, angel,“ his gaze grows soft as he closes the distance between your bodies and leans down to kiss you.

Of course this wasn’t the first time you wore a set of lingerie for him, but you always opted for cuter and lighter sets before. You wonder if you felt drawn to this one because, on an intuitive level, you could sense that you were about to engage in something more raunchy? Who really knows. You’re just happy that it’s working its intended charm on your husband.

„I’m glad you like,“ you giggle and snake your arms around his neck, pulling him down to the bed with you.

„More than like,“ he presses a passionate kiss to your lips this time.

„How am I supposed to behave when you look so ravishing…“ he parts from your lips and sighs, pulling back to get a better look at you. His eyes are trailing down your body until they land on your thighs, with his eager hands only lagging behind by a second before they dig into the plush flesh.

You giggle at that and retort: „Then don’t behave, silly. You can be a naughty boy, too. Just makes putting you in your place all the more fun.“ You can’t supress the smug grin on your face as you say it.

But Sunday’s already a lot more dazed than you anticipated. He barely seems to register what you’re saying, his eyes closed and his mouth busy kissing and licking at the skin of your thighs.

He only hums in response, briefly looking up at you with glossy, half-lidded eyes before returning to his desperate ministrations. You can tell he’s already growing hard through his boxershorts as he ruts pathetically against one of your legs.

„Aw,“ you let out a condescending coo while massaging his scalp, „Poor baby. Already so needy, huh? But-„ you sit up to disrupt him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him away from your body. „You’re not allowed to cum yet, got it? We just started after all. I think you need to earn it first. Don’t you?“

He whines at that but doesn’t protest further.

You grab his chin and pull his face closer to yours, making him look you in the eyes.

„I asked you a question, honey. It’s rude and I know I taught you better than that,“ you say sternly.

„Y-yes ma’am. You’re right… as always,“ he practically moans out.

You agreed to roleplay as an aristrocratic mistress and her younger servant. With a lot of encouragement Sunday revealed to you that this was a big fantasy for him that he’s been fantasizing over since his teenage days. So that explains why he’s so into period dramas, you thought to yourself upon learning of this less than an hour ago. Really, you’re just happy to have gotten a little closer to him once again.

„Mhm, better,“ you hum, satisfied with his answer, and release him from your grip.

You lean back on the bed once again, wriggling your legs out from between his and placing one foot on his chest.

„Well, these shoes aren’t gonna come off by themselves now, will they?“ you taunt him. „You know what to do, get on with it boy.“ You feign a yawn.

„Yes ma’am…“ he mumbles as he carefully slips the shoe off your foot and repeats the motion on the other one. He leans down to place them neatly at the foot of the bed before sitting on his knees, hands in his lap, and looking at you expectantly.

„Good boy,“ you praise. You meet his gaze and a devilish glint surfaces in your own as you try to supress a grin.

„Hmm so obedient. I wonder…“ musing, you sit up on your elbows now to get a better view of the slim man in front of you. You lift both of your legs up and let your feet frame his still clothed bulge. You apply some pressure to the area, rubbing your feet along the outline on either side. „Will you be able to sit perfectly still while I do this?“ you almost cackle, feeling way too cocky.

Sundays eyes widen at that, his audible gulp not slipping past your notice. He sits up a little straighter, shoulders rolling back as determination settles on his features.

He doesn’t reply and this time you decide to let it slide. Your desire to tease and rile him up overpowers any other thought you might’ve had.

You decide to sit back up on your behind, granting you more range of motion. His cock is hard enough for you to squeeze the tent between your feet and so you begin to rub his erection up and down in a tortutous motion.

Your eyes flit up to observe his expression and it does not disappoint. He’s biting his lip, shifting his weight backwards and squeezing his eyes shut. He looks like it’s taking him every ounce of concentration not to rut up into your touch.

„So good for me, you’re behaving so well baby,“ you purr, slightly increasing the tempo and pressure of your ministrations to push him further.

„F-fuck! I can’t!“ he moans, his body no longer listening to him as he bucks up in a staccato rhythm.

You can feel his precome forming a wet patch in his briefs and decide to bring your movements to a halt. You withdraw your legs wordlessly and rise from the bed.

„Wha… what?“ Sundays eyes snap open and he turns to you in disbelief, puppy eyes trained on your form as you bend down to pick up your shoes and make a show of putting them back on, practically wiggling your ass in his face.

Slowly you stand up straight and turn to face him halfway.

„Sorry darling, but today’s playtime has to end here. I totally forgot the time, my husband will be home soon.“ You shrug your shoulders and pout your lips in a faux apologetic tone.

You waltzs over to the vanity and grab the robe that’s been draped over it, slipping it on and nonchalantly pretending to check your makeup in the mirror. You grab a book from the shelf beside it before heading towards the door. As you grip the handle you turn to glance back at Sunday’s disheveled form, still perched atop the bed and looking lost as a stray puppy.

„Do make sure to clean up after yourself, boy. If my husband finds out about this I’ll make sure you go down with me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be downstairs reading as I wait up for him like a good wife.“

You don’t get to open the door more than a few inches before it gets slammed shut roughly and the book in your hand hits the floor with a thud, your body colliding with the wooden surface as Sunday presses you up against it with his chest to your backside. His hands come up next to your face which is being smushed against the material, making your words come out in a muffled and awkward manner.

„Huh?! Wha do you tink youe doin?“ you hiss, trying to wiggle free from this compromising position.

„I’m sorry but I can’t hold back,“ he apologizes and it almost sounds like he means it.

„Ah! You little!“ You gasp out as you feel his naked member hit your lower back. This guy is seriously trying to rape you. And you’re ashamed to admit that it’s making you gush into your panties and clench around nothing.

Or at least that’s how you decided your character feels about it. For you, this exactly what you were aiming to coax out of him with your earlier teasing.

Sundays hands are coming down to your hips, thumbing the thin waistband of your thong with both thumbs before yanking it down roughly. You think you hear a ripping sound, but you can’t check to see from the position you’re still in. Not that it bothers you. In fact it just makes this hotter.

He takes his cock in one hand and lines it up with your slit, tentatively rubbing it up and down a few times to collect your slick. Then, finally, he notches at your entrance and begins to rut into your tight little hole inch by delicious inch. One of his hands comes back up to grip your hip while the other pushes your upper back into the door to keep you in place.

„S-sorry, sorry… ahh!“ he chants, sounding like he’s conflicted and fighting a battle of his own with the part of him that’s sexually frustrated and the part that cares about morals. You wonder how much of it is just acting and how much of it he genuinely feels.

But you don’t get to dwell on the thought for long as you’re grounded back into reality when he finally sheathes himself inside you to the hilt and bullies your cervix with his tip.

He doesn’t even wait for you to adjust, that’s how desparate he is, as he begins to pump in and out of you, not taking your pleasure into consideration at all. But that’s alright because being used like this just turns you on more, ironically helping you build towards your own orgasm.

„Ugh, d-don’t stop! Faster!“ you cry out, rutting back against him. You manage to bring down one of your hands to play with your clit, rubbing big, rough circles against the poor little pearl.

Seems like Sunday heard your prayers and decided to pick up his pace. The angle he’s thrusting in now manages to hit your sweet spot, but only sporadically. It makes tears of frustration well up in your eyes and you whine as you shake your hips violently as you give chase to your climax.

„Jesus christ Miss, you feel too good! Your pussy is so tight, I’m gonna…!“ he pants as his movements start to become erratic. He’s now grabbing at your elbows and pulling them back like handles, causing you to lose the little friction your clit had.

„Noooo!“ you attempt to kick your legs in protest, but they’re too wobbly. You close your eyes and try to direct all of your focus on the sensation of him pounding you, hoping that you’ll still be able to come this way.

Just as you’re about to reach your own climax, he buries himself as deep as he can inside of you and stills. You can feel a hot sensation shooting past your cervix and filling your womb in two, three, four, you’re not sure anymore how many, short bursts. „Yes, yes…“ he mutters, leaning his head on your shoulder for support as he presses himself into you as tightly as he can.

„Fuuuuck! So good, yes, oh god-„ you’re babbling incoherently now as a hot wave washes over you and makes your wobbly legs almost give out under you as you stumble backwards a few inches, causing Sunday to hiss out in his sensitive state.

Both of you come to total stillness, heaving as you try to introduce air back into your lungs and thoughts back into your mind.

After about a minute of total silence and stillness Sunday begins peppering gentle kisses on your shoulder, rearranging his hands to snake around your waist so he can hold you against him in a gentler manner.

„Mhmmm,“ you hum, satisfaction evident in your voice. „That was amazing, babe. So hot how you just had your way with me. And I loved giving you a footjob, maybe I’ll give you a proper one next time.“

„Are you alright though? I wasn’t too rough, was I?“ he separates himself from you to carefully turn you around and inspect your face.

You giggle. „Nope, you were holding back, I could tell. It was just right, Sunday, don’t worry.“ You run your hands up and down his arms in a soothing motion.

„How about you? Did that make you feel better?“

„It was even better than I expected. Thank you for indulging me,“ he hums, eyes crinkling affectionately. He leans down to nose you softly.

„I admit for a moment I felt a little ashamed and wrong for enjoying this, but it was so hot I couldn’t even hold that thought for more than a second,“ Sunday chuckles.

„That’s good. I’m glad you enjoyed it just as much as I did.“

You try to maneuver the both of you towards the bed, wanting nothing more than to plop down on it and get comfy for a little longer before you get cleaned up eventually.

Sunday leans into your embrace, meeting your eyes with a look of adoration, and you think you can only thank your lucky stars that this your life.

#sunday x reader #sunday/reader #hsr fic #sunday fic #hsr #suburban legends #originals #honkai star rail #sunday (hsr)

[pinkkittysaw]

🍉 FICSFORGAZA - SPONSOR A WIP! 🍉

hello friends ^_^ i’ve decided to join @ficsforgaza’s fundraiser and help raise money via “sponsor a wip”

please read through this ENTIRE post before sponsoring!

dividers by @/cafekitsune

HOW IT WORKS:

for a more detailed explanation, feel free to visit @/ficsforgaza’s “HOW TO PARTICIPATE” post linked here

RATE: $1 = 100 WORDS (with a maximum of $10/1000 words per donation)

you don’t have to be following me to sponsor a wip!

1) make a donation directly toward any vetted fundraiser providing aid to gaza/palestine of your choosing. (none of the money donated goes to me or the other creators participating)

2) send me an ask with the wip you’d like to sponsor along with a screenshot of your donation (blocking out all personal information), and a link to the fundraiser you’ve donated to (the asks will not be posted!)

example: hi angel! i donated (x) amount to (link of fundraiser here along with screenshot proof of donation) and wanted to sponsor (name of wip)

CAVEATS:

as i write nsfw-content, i’m requiring that asks pertaining to wip sponsorships be OFF ANON and that YOUR AGE MUST BE EASILY ACCESSIBLE ON YOUR BLOG! YOU MUST BE 18+ TO SPONSOR A WIP! refusing to comply with these rules will make your sponsorship null and void!

one donation per wip sponsorship. you can not use the same screenshot to sponsor multiple wips/the same wip multiple times

i will be sending screenshots to ficswithgaza to make sure that no donations are being used across multiple writers

WIPS:

full transparency, my word count varies across my fics so i’ve decided to place a cap on the maximum amount of words eligible to be sponsored for each wip. if the word count goal is met and i find that i still have more i’d like to write, i will increase the eligible sponsor word count goal for that wip in particular.

word counts will be updated as sponsorships come in and sponsorships for individual wips will be closed if i reach max word count goal for that wip in particular. i will reblog this post as the word count get updated

next to the word count goal you will see (subject to change) the word count goal will only ever change if i decide to write MORE than what the existing word count goal is.

as of this posting, the word count goals are the maximum amount of words i feel i can get from each concept without making the stories feel like they drag on. the word count goal will only ever go UP, not down.

total sponsored words: 1,000

1) GARDEN OF EDEN (title subject to change)

matt murdock x f!reader (nsfw)

fandom: daredevil

summary: in the midst of hopelessness, you find yourself stumbling into an unfamiliar church seeking guidance. in your daze, you bump into an unsuspecting, yet rather handsome man who offers to “mentor” you in your newfound faith. as the relationship between the two of you blossoms, you find yourself at a crossroads between following your teachings or following your heart.

content warning(s): general nsfw, sacrilege, corruption kink, religious guilt, talk of christianity (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5,000

word count goal: 276/5,000 (subject to change)

2) AS YOU WISH CHAPTER 3 (title subject to change)

knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader (nsfw)

fandom: final fantasy xvi

summary: a jousting tournament has commenced, but as you try to steady your focus on a certain knight in particular, your attention is split in three different directions.

content warnings: general nsfw, minor violence (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 1,000/3,000

word count goal: 1,211/3,000 (subject to change)

3) SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY (title subject to change)

john marston x f! reader (nsfw)

fandom: red dead redemption 2

summary: being a wealthy woman from saint denis has a LOT of upsides, but being recognized by most high society whenever you step outside your door is certainly not one of them. when your father leaves for an extended work trip you take the railway into valentine to catch up with your “favorite” outlaw

content warning(s): general nsfw (tags will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5000

word count goal: 171/5000 (subject to change)

i do a lot of research for my fics and often have various things going on in my personal life so i can’t promise quick and snappy release times but if a wip gets fully funded, i will do my best to release the fic within two months of it reaching it’s goal.

i know i can be VERY wordy, if you have any questions about my post in particular, don’t hesitate to send me an ask! if you have any questions about the fundraiser itself, feel free to check out the @ficsforgaza blog and visit their FAQ page!

even if you are unable to donate please feel free to reblog this post along with ficsforgaza’s introduction post to help spread the word, and be sure to check out the other awesome creators involved with this project!

#ficsforgaza #ffxvi x reader #rdr2 x reader #daredevil x reader #john marston x reader #clive rosfield x reader #matt murdock x reader